


Who Am I Now?

by Cleo1876



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek
Genre: Immortal Sherlock, Science Experiments, Sherlock Holmes is Khan Noonien Singh, comatose Sherlock, sherlock crossover, star trek crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:07:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleo1876/pseuds/Cleo1876
Summary: After the Reichenbach operation goes wrong, Sherlock slips into a coma. A little while after that a stranger offers Mycroft a deal, healing Sherlock and returning him as Khan two years later.





	1. The Offer

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody. This is my very first Sherlock fic. I haven't given up on a possibility of season 5 yet, so this here is my way of dealing with the whole painful waiting. I hope you'll appreaciate my fic, just don't be too strict 'cause English isn't my native language.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own "Sherlock", sadly.

The steady beaping of the heart monitor sent a painful jolt of guilt and anger through Mycroft's system. Yes, he was angry. Very angry indeed. He was angry at Sherlock for his never ending stubborness and the noble stupidity of always playing the hero; he was angry at himself for ever letting everything of that happen - after all, it was HIM being in charge of the failed operation; and he was angry of that son of a bitch called Moriarty. This man wasn't supposed to be able to choose how to die - not in the way he's chosen it by simply sticking the end of the gun against the back of his throat and pulling the trigger. No, he was supposed to die the most painful death ever - it was only fair after all what he'd done.

 

But the life wasn't fair. And as much as Mycroft wanted to kill this man over and over again all he could do was standing in front of the glass window and staring at the motionless figure of his ghostly pale brother lying on the snow white sheets in the isolated room of Mycroft's private hospital.

 

"So sad, isn't it?", came a deep voice somewhere from his left. "How long had it been already - six months? I admire your loyality."

 

Mycroft, who had turned around to the source of the noise, was now staring at a tall figure, whose face was nothing but a dark shadow under the hood of his black, long coat.

 

"And who the hell are YOU?", Mycroft demanded, irritated, immediately taking a step aside, not liking the small space between the two of them.

 

He could swear the stranger was smiling openly now. "Oh, I don't think it's that important. Just consider me as a friend. Especially since I'm here to help you"

 

But Mycroft was having none of that. "Like hell you are", he hissed, already about to alarm the guards to get rid of this suspicious persona. How did he get in here anyway?  
"Tsk, don't be a fool", the man chuckled darkly, as if sensing what Mycroft was about to do. "Just listen to what I have to offer."

 

Now it was Mycroft's turn to chuckle. What could this maroon have possibly to offer that Mycroft hadn't tried already?

 

"I'm here to offer you a deal", the answer came. "I can perform a treatment that will save Sherlock's life. But there is one condition: You have to let him go with me. You don't have much to lose. You've already lost him. Let me save him."

 

***

 

Dr. Harald Rivens was very pleased. He was certain that after all these years of search he had finally found someone who had all the potential he needed in order to become a cold and ruthless killer. Not just A killer. Rather an immortal one. A killing machine. Someone deadly, but always loyal. Of course that would mean he had to prepare such a species first. This included extracting all of its memories. Memories make people weak. Emotional. Harald knew it. This was one point to work on when it came to Sherlock Holmes. Dr. Rivens knew all about that man. He knew all about his cases, his habits and also his "relationship" with Irene Adler. Actually, she was the one who introduced him to Sherlock - back then, she recommended him to use another name - just for his own safety. Sherlock wasn't supposed to get any suspicions back then. Little did he know that the bald, aged and seemingly anxcious man who called himself Steven Hall, a supposably brilliant restorer, turned out to be no one else than Dr. Harald Rivens, a brilliant scientist who was working for a criminal society for decades now. He knew the job was dangerous, but it also had some very lucrative perks - such as shameless wealth and the freedom to perform a lot of freaky and forbidden experiments which Harald LOVED to do by the way. A love that resulted in possession which then resulted in the relentless desire of creating an immortal killing machine. He knew they needed one - the society he was working for. And with high demands came the even higher prize. And Harald just loved money.

 

So, this is why he currently was standing there with a big bluish syringe in his hand, eyeing the half open skull of the comatose Sherlock Holmes and licking his lips in delight as he was about to empty the blue liquid directly into his patient's brain. Doing so Harald was wondering with mild interest how much of the Consulting Detective was going to be left there after waking up.

 

***

There was this suspicious feeling in his nose. A really nasty one. Like the smell of ... hospital? Yes, he was certain of that now. What happened? Why was he in a hospital? Had one of his experiments gone wrong? Again? No, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall planning any of them recently. He just hasn't had time for that lately. Not since dealing with Moriarty. Not since starting to plan the ... oh. Right. How could he have forgotten that? The fall! He needed to make it real. He needed to make John to believe it was real. He didn't have much time left, he had to call Mycroft, they had to plan everything through.

 

But then there was a loud BANG in his ears sending him into a hell of a headache. Sherlock winced involuntarily. He was also able to make out a slight, yet specific, metallic taste on his tongue now, the very one as if he was tasting blood. The taste made him gag. Which caused a painful convulsion of his sore throat. What the hell was happening here?

 

"Shhh, stay still", came a soothing voice from above his head. There was a sharp pinch on the inner side of one of his arms and his muscles started to relax at once, though his thoughts began to race even more.

 

"You need the rest now, you know? You've earned that"

 

What did he earn? What did he do to earn whatever the voice was referring to? Sherlock simply couldn't get his mind on it. A certain panic was rising in his chest now, but he felt like he was falling, deep into a dark nothingsness, with no possibility to escape because his body didn't seem to be wanting to cooperate. What's happening? What's happening? WHAT'S HAPPENING???

 

BANG! BANG! There was this noise again. It rang in his ears, making him sick to his stomach. He somehow knew this sound didn't mean any good. There were memories. Sherlock knew they were bad ones, but he couldn't put his mind on it. Had someone been shot? It sounded a lot like it. But who? Maybe it was him? At least this would explain him being in the hospital.

 

But where was John? Where was his friend instead of this one cold voice howering over him? Sherlock still didn't understand.

 

 _Goodbye, John_ , echoed a voice in his head suddenly, and with shock he realised it was his own. But the way it sounded Sherlock got a feeling like he was about to never going to see his friend again. But why?

 

He tried to remember, he really did, but nothing came.

 

Sherlock felt the sudden urge to cry. It made his feel helpless not being able to recall things. He had to calm down, he had to try to focus on just one thing and then to reconstruct it all, step by step.

 

But where would he begin? Just one word came to Sherlock at that moment: John. It was John over and over again. John was his anchor, the key to his sanity. _You can do it_ , repeated Sherlock mentally, _just picture his face_. Yes, he could do it!

 

... Except, he suddenly found he couldn't.

 

Cold sweat began to gather on Sherlock's forehead. No, no, no! How was this even _possible_???

 

He tried again, he tried to picture John's warm smile, he tried to imagine his voice in his ears...

 

But there was still nothing. Like this John was a stranger Sherlock met once in a train. A faceless stranger. Just like everyone else.

 

***

 

Sherlock awoke to a pleasant warmth hitting the right side of his face. He smiled. He was feeling relaxed and well rested. And at a strange peace. There was nothing to care about. He didn't have anything to care about. Or anyone. Hell, he didn't want to care about his own name at this very moment. He just didn't want this peace to go away. It was a new feeling to him and he liked it. But it didn't last for too long.

 

"Rise and shine, darling!", a sing-song female voice came through his dizzy conciousness. "It's time for your treatment. Just don't get the idea to get out of that bed, we've made sure you won't. We wouldn't want any problems here, now would we?

 

Sherlock nearly jumped at that. He didn't expect anyone coming into his room. His second reaction was rage, his adrenaline level increasing with an alarming speed and very soon, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to rip his intruder apart.

 

Violently, he thrust forward in order to get up from the bed, only to let out a scream of agony caused by the thick and scratchy ropes biting into his chest.

 

"What the hell have you done to me?? Get me out of these ropes NOW!!!", he damanded, enraged beyond any means. He didn't even know why he was being so angry, but then again, he didn't really care.

 

"Mr. Holmes, as you can see, you've got some serious anger issues here and I'm afraid I cannot let you out anytime soon. You must understand, the restrains are for your own - and our - savety". The girl - whoever it was - was trying to make it sound professional, but Sherlock could hear her suppressing a grin. And it made him even angrier.

 

No, this made him MORE than that. It made him nearly hysterical. Which is why he suddenly began to laugh like a madman.

 

"Oh just you wait until I get my hands on youuu", he hissed. "I'm gonna snap your spine into two and gonna drag your body around as an act of demonstration of what I do to freaks who are messing around with me!" Sherlock really didn't know where such vivid imagination was coming from - he still supposed it was all to blame on the adrenaline - but he really liked that power surging through his veins. It was almost like oxygen to him now. And even more satisfying was the silence following afterwards. He could literally taste the sudden fear of the woman radiating from her. Wait, not only that. Was there also ... a certain admiration? Irritated, Sherlock shook that one quickly out of his head. Anyways, her fear made him really happy somehow. The influence he had on her.

 

But he needed to calm down. Be rational. He was Sherlock Holmes after all. Right? Well, he didn't really know who gave him this ridiculous name but he didn't really care. He was feeling like an entirely new person and all the memories - and there seemed to be practically nothing to remember about which was pretty strange but whatever - were worthless. Just like this name.

 

 _I think I might need a new one_ , Sherlock thought.


	2. Irene

John Watson could barely contain his rage. He was damn right about his bad feeling towards Mycroft Holmes, the man with his stupid umbrella and his ever so satisfied smile on his face. He didn't like the man from the very beginning on, not bying his impression of a concerned brother any minute. So now, as he was holding his phone with a shaking hand, he wasn't really surprised about Mycroft's stupidity.

"You did WHAT???", he roared, feeling a sickening dizziness taking over his body. "You ... how could you DO that? You always keep swearing how important your brother is to you and the moment when he's helpless and needs his family more than ever you just let him to be taken by the next best stranger??"

On the other end of the line a soft murmering could be heard. Mycroft Holmes didn't sound like his usual self now. He sounded ... tired. Defeated. Like he'd given up on Sherlock.

"Ok", John exhaled sharply, his lips tightening into a thin line. "What did he offer you?"

***

John didn't believe a single word. Actually, he'd way since given up on believing in miracles. He just couldn't understand Mycroft's decision on handling his own brother over to this stranger. But then again, he knew Mycroft Holmes was getting desperate especially after having hired the best doctors in the country over the last six months. But nobody could do anything for Sherlock. They said he was braindead. And there was nothing they could do. Just then, there came this stranger. Like a sun ray into the darkness. John sighed. So maybe he should have faith after all... .

 

***

"Ah Mr. Holmes ... it's so nice of you to join the land of the living", came a smug voice from the front, following the sound of a door being shut.

Sherlock glared in the said direction. He just wanted to be left alone right now. Didn't they get it? 

 

"And who are you?", he hissed, sending daggers towards a bald man in a white doctor's coat, who appeared to find a great interest in the consulting detective by the way he was scanning him over. 

 

The doctor smiled. It was a snake like smile Sherlock immediately came to detest. 

 

"Oh, I'm Dr. Rivens. I'm the one who has cured you. You can call me Harald, by the way", he said.

 

Sherlock still didn't understand.  _Cured? What the hell?_

 

The doctor - Harald - seemed to read his thoughts. "Oh, yes, of course you don't know", he exclaimed, smacking himself mockingly on the forehead. "You were in a coma for the last six months", he stated in a matter-of-fact. "But don't worry, it doesn't matter anymore. You are a different person now. So why don't we start at the very beginning?"

 

Sherlock shut his eyes tightly while trying to process the information. Actually, there wasn't much to process since he didn't have any memories to hold onto. He didn't really have to worry about anything since he had nothing to worry about, right? So if this stranger said he was different now, so be it. He didn't know what to compare this "different" personality of his to. He was who he was now.  He had to accept that. That didn't mean he didn't trust this smug doctor standing in the doorway though.

 

"So what now?", he sneered. "You gonna keep me here all day, bound to that bed? That's just a great new beginning to start with"

 

Harald snickered shortly, enraging Sherlock further now. "Oh my friend", he said. "I already begin to like you. You weren't that fun to deal with in the past, I swear"

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn't know how he used to be in the past, so what was all this talk useful for? It was strange, though, that he knew his own name at least. 

 

"Oh, of course", the good doctor said, as if only now noticing the restraints holding the consulting detective to the bed. "Irene, please remove these off  of Sherlock. Just promise us you'll behave, Mr. Holmes"

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes once again. He didn't have anyway to go now, did he? 

 

Soon he felt soft feminine hands pulling at the strings at his wrists. It stang a lot, but he just lay stoically still. After a moment he looked up straight into the woman's eyes. There was something awefully familiar in those green depths. Have they met before? In his "past" life? A thousand of questions flickered suddenly through his mind. Could this woman possibly know anything about his past? And what was it about her that was arousing him to no end somehow? Was it her shape, was is her lips? Or maybe those cheeky smirk she currently wore? It was as those he had seen her wearing this one once before.

 

"Don't look at me like that, darling", she said in a sing-song voice. "I think we are going to become very good friends" ...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So folks, now I have to make a cut here. So the next chapter will be set two years later and it's gonna describe Sherlock's return as Khan. Anyway, what do you think so far? I appreciate every opinion. Thanx!


End file.
